To You, Graceless (CAMREN)

13 - So, This Is What My Life Looks Like

As it turned out, Lauren sent the address some time in the evening, when the detective was sound asleep; wild, caveman hair all over her face, mouth ajar and limbs spilling from her relatively comfortable make-shift mattress. As far as Sinu was concerned, it was important to note that her daughter grunted like a caveman when being woken up, too.

There wasn't anything graceful about an exhausted Camila in her slumber.

At some point, Camila worried about her pest of a brother but she found his shoes by the locked front door when she woke up in the middle of the night with a gurgling stomach. Miraculously, Camila ignored her appetite and managed to slither back to dreamland until moments preceding the breaking dawn; waking up before anyone could, even beating big ol' Mr. Sun.

Then again, there was just something about being in the same house as her mother and grandmother that pacified her, and the fifteen hours she spent unconscious would prove that.

The comfort of familiarity quells the commotion of an anxious being.

But since she didn't have lunch nor dinner, and the snacks she typically inhaled in between, the first thing in her mind was food. After brewing some coffee, she made quick work gathering and chopping ingredients to make frittatas, including a hefty amount of asparagus and spinach. All the while, munching on some brownies she found in the refrigerator.

It was most likely her third piece when Sinu walked in, preceded by the gentle click of the door.

"You're cooking." The woman noted, minty breath blowing mildly at the side of her daughter's cheek.

"I can cook." Camila retorted, dismissive. She glanced at her mother, only to send her a look of disapproval before devoting her attention back to cutting the last piece of white onion. "Sit this one out. I made some coffee."

"Don't cut it too big."

Mouth gaped, the detective stared at her mother like she grew another head with another mouth to nag her ass out – as if one wasn't enough. Camila was meticulous in her knife skills, bearing in mind just how much she despised large chunks of onion. She would have brought up some facts, the part where she'd been cooking for over a decade but realized she could never please her mother in that aspect. In those years, it had always been 'this needs more salt,' 'I can't taste a certain ingredient,' 'too much butter,' and her favorite 'this is unhealthy.'

The list goes on and on.

Camila always wondered when she would hear 'just right.' She wasn't even asking for a resounding 'perfect.' Those dreams only flourish when she's piss drunk.

Truthfully, she was impressed her mother found something. By preheating the oven and adding bacon for Franco, she thought she had everything covered.

As it turns out, she was wrong.

A round of applause for Sinuhe Cabello.

Camila wished she made a plaque or a certificate for 'best in nitpicking.' That would have erased that smug look from her mother's face. She reminded herself to get ready next time she visits.

Of course, she'd have to prepare her limbs for the impending slap. It'd be worth it, though, she concluded.

"What part of sit back and relax don't you understand?" She chided, a hand on her waist when she found her mother gathering the empty cups and plates to wash; depositing them in the sink in front of the wide window covered by floral curtains.

"What part of me being your mother don't you understand?" Sinu retorted promptly, set on doing the task; leaving her daughter to shake her head and just start cooking.